


The Wounds We Bled

by Raine_Wynd



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assumptions, Canon-Typical Violence, Clan Denial, Custody Arrangements, Explicit Language, Families of Choice, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pre-Immortal, Richie Lives, Sobriety, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: When Connor finds Richie, he's not alone and in need of help.
Relationships: Connor MacLeod & Rachel Ellenstein, Connor MacLeod & Richie Ryan, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Rachel Ellenstein & Richie Ryan, Richie Ryan & Original Character(s)
Comments: 96
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for almost a year. It's not a pretty place where Richie is, mentally, as this fic assumes he successfully defended himself against Haresh Clay (October 1996). He and Duncan never reconciled after the Dark Quickening; Richie has been on his own ever since.
> 
> Thanks to irishkate and N for the beta and cheerleading!

####  _**Monday, December 24, 2012** _

Richie hoped he was not making a mistake. Taking AJ with him to an all-night diner in New York City on Christmas Eve seemed harmless enough. The holiday didn’t matter to him; the two-year-old wouldn’t remember it. He hadn’t bothered to celebrate it in years, but the holiday would help bolster his excuses if someone questioned him. Giving into AJ’s desire for chicken strips and fries instead of driving south, out of the danger presented by staying in the city, terrified him. Was he scarring her for life by indulging her? he wondered.

 _You can face a headhunter with seven centuries’ worth of experience_ , the voice in his head mocked, _but you can’t stand a little girl’s tears of anger_.

In the six months since Richie had taken AJ, he had learned she was a champion at tantrums. Preventing another tantrum seemed the easiest thing to do, especially at nine o’clock at night. Richie wanted to be out of the city before the predicted snowstorm—and a Highlander’s inquisition—found him.

 _Taking out Dominic Cleburne in Central Park won’t go unnoticed. Admit it,_ the voice in his head mocked, _you want to be found_.

Richie ignored that voice with determination.

Seventeen years of playing the Game as a headhunter had left its mark. Richie had discovered a perverse joy in hunting the headhunters, aided by a few tricks he had learned through his accumulation of Quickenings. When he won, he helped himself to the loser’s bank accounts, figuring they no longer needed the money. He was careful not to overspend or flash cash. He kept to smaller motels, where the clerks were less likely to pay close attention. Money for food and shelter had long vanished as a problem for Richie.

AJ was a new wrinkle in Richie’s plans, but for now, she was small and portable. Her strawberry-blonde hair was a blessing; it meant she looked like his daughter. A biker friend had helped Richie weld a child-sized seat to secure AJ onto the pillion of his motorcycle. A multiple-point harness kept AJ in place, even if she fell asleep. A heavy plastic cover, repurposed from bicycle use, snapped on to protect her from the wind and rain. Richie had found a helmet and protective gear for AJ, intended for bicycle—not motorcycle—use. She was outgrowing what he had bought. The winter here was colder than he had expected. Despite jury-rigging a seat heater, and putting heat packs in her coat and pants to keep her warm, he feared he would kill her from exposure.

As Richie ensured AJ ate her dinner, the tsunami of old, strong, and experienced immortal presence washed through him. For a heartbeat, he thought about running out the back door, but he wouldn’t leave AJ. Richie recognized who was coming to greet him, even before the owner of the presence stepped into the diner.

Hunting the headhunter who had wanted Connor’s head had taken Richie three days. Three days in which the same tsunami warning had thrummed through Richie’s body. Said immortal had waited out of his direct line of sight and watched to see what he was doing. Three days was enough time for Connor to have discovered everything he needed to know about Richie. It was a calculated risk, but Richie needed help. He couldn’t continue to travel like this. He was too tired to hide his presence, which was what he normally did when he did not want to call attention to himself.

Connor sat down in the booth without asking. “You’re a long way from Seacouver, Richie. Who’s the girl?”

Richie met Connor’s unamused gaze. “Someone her mother tossed out like yesterday’s trash, since AJ had passed the ‘cute baby’ stage.”

“You didn’t call the police?”

“And tell them what? Oh, the hooker I picked up last night left her baby with me because she thought I was a better choice than strangling her baby to death?”

Connor shrugged. “Little girls don’t fit in with the choices you’ve made.”

“Yeah, well, your cousin almost killed me. You’ll excuse me while I play the cards he dealt me while staying the hell out of his way.”

“He overloaded; it can happen to the best of us.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll add it to the list of shit Duncan didn’t bother to teach me.” Richie’s voice dripped contempt and he turned his focus to AJ. He sighed when he saw she was stacking the chicken nuggets instead of eating them. “Sweetie, are you done eating?”

“No!” she protested and ate a nugget. “Stack tower.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he chided her.

Connor’s gaze weighed on Richie. “What? I can’t teach my girl manners?”

“She’ll need more than that to survive. You’ll need papers to avoid the police calling you and claiming you kidnapped a child.”

“I have her birth certificate and the letter her mother left me. She looks like me with her red hair. What more do I need?”

“Legal custody and warm shelter,” Connor reminded him. “A snowstorm will hit soon. You won’t be able to escape the snowstorm without bunkering down, especially as young as she is. I’ll pay a lawyer to assist with custody, provided you agree to stay in my house for however long the custody case takes to settle in court.”

Richie crossed his arms. “And what do you gain?” he sneered.

“I stop worrying about you,” Connor noted, his tone dry. “How much training did Mac give you?”

Richie barked a disbelieving laugh. “Does it matter? I learned how to fight better without his help.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “He kicked you out before you were ready.”

“So?” Richie challenged. “That was years ago. Besides, I heard he thinks I’m dead, so it doesn’t matter. If all you’re going to do is sit here and give me shit, I’ll take AJ and go before the storm hits.”

In reply, Connor pointed to the window. Outside, the snow fell in visible sheets.

Richie swore and rose, but Connor grabbed his forearm, stopping him. “If nothing else, stay with me while the storm passes. I’ll feed you better than this slop, and you won’t need to pay for a hotel room where someone might report you having a minor.”

Richie’s mouth tightened in remembered anger before he sat back down. “Someone already did at the last motel I was at. They claimed I was abusing her. They didn’t understand she was having a typical kid meltdown over bedtime. I left when the police cleared out.”

Connor did not appear surprised. “Let me take her; she’ll be warmer and safer in my car.”

After signaling the server and getting the check, Richie paid for his dinner. Connor then gave him directions to his building, including how to access the alley that led to the garage. He then directed him to where he had parked his car. He further surprised Richie by having a car seat in the back of the ancient sedan. Connor took AJ and strapped her in with ease, which told Richie AJ was not the first child he had handled. That ease reassured Richie.

Satisfied, Richie walked down the block to where he had parked his motorcycle. The accumulated snow on the seat made Richie appreciate AJ was not in her usual place.

 _AJ’s safe now,_ the voice in his head whispered. _You can leave_.

For a moment, Richie hesitated. Then he saw Connor pull up expectantly.

 _He won’t let you go easy now_ , that damnable voice whispered. _He won’t let you run._

Taking a deep breath, Richie mounted his motorcycle and warmed the engine. Connor led the way, but even he was taking the roads with caution.

The falling snow made the journey treacherous. It took the two men an hour instead of the normal twenty minutes to reach Connor’s building on Hudson Street.

Connor remotely opened the garage door. The interior lit up, revealing a wide space big enough to house two cars. He parked his car on the right side, so Richie parked his motorcycle on the left side. Richie turned off his motorcycle’s engine and spent a moment relieved to have arrived in one piece. Richie trembled from the effort he had spent. He had to fight back against the sudden panic that engulfed him as he realized how much worse it would have been to have had AJ in her usual place.

Connor exited his sedan and used the remote to shut the garage. He retrieved AJ from the back seat of his sedan and lifted her up. AJ barely protested.

“Do you need a hand?” Concerned, Connor stepped closer to where Richie still sat on his motorcycle despite having shut off the engine.

“Give me a second,” Richie managed.

Nodding, Connor waited.

Breathing deeply, Richie composed himself, then dismounted. He hung his helmet on a handlebar before he removed a duffel bag out of the trunk of his motorcycle. Slinging the duffel over one shoulder, Richie took a deep breath, hoping he was not making a mistake. Richie’s sword was a comfortable weight in its sheath against his back, but he knew if he did not trust Connor, he would not be here.

A staircase bracketed the back wall on the right side. At the top, Connor unlocked the door. Following him, Richie stepped into a well-equipped kitchen. Passing through the kitchen, Connor led him to a central staircase. Richie caught sight of a sunken living room forming the opposite corner before he followed Connor up to a guest bedroom.

To Richie’s surprise, Connor had set up the bedroom with what, to Richie, looked like a twin bed with safety rails. It looked too new to be a piece of furniture Connor would have on hand. The teddy bear, child-sized pillow, and child-appropriate linens added to the realization that Connor had to have bought a bed for AJ. Judging from the imprints in the carpet, Connor had rearranged the existing furniture to make room for the toddler bed.

Abruptly, Richie understood why Connor had been watching him.

“You wanted to see how I’d do against Dominic Cleburne.”

“You were better prepared for that idiot than I expected.”

“I took his teacher’s head six months ago.”

Connor studied him as his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Richie flashed him a grin, a shadow of the reckless, charming thief he had been. “Because drowning my sorrows in alcohol stopped working.”

Connor did not laugh, and the joke fell flat. “When’s the last time you slept without nightmares?”

“There’s such a thing?” Richie asked before he could stop himself.

Connor’s mouth tightened. “Yes. Do you need a hand with her?” He passed AJ back to Richie, who buried her head against Richie’s body. He held her a little tighter.

“No. If I can get her to sleep, we’ll both crash until morning.”

“Help yourself when you get hungry. Let me know if you need anything.” He met Richie’s gaze. “That includes babysitting AJ while you sleep.”

Richie looked at Connor, thinking he would never request such a favor, but nodded anyway. Then Richie was alone with AJ. Briefly, he let himself wonder if he was making the right decision. He could bypass the alarms on the doors, abandoning AJ to Connor. Nobody would think less of him for giving her up to someone with the resources to give her a better life. Yet he couldn’t make himself leave.

To his surprise, Connor did not seem to need his, or AJ’s, company. Beyond a brief conversation in which Connor got the details he needed to provide to his lawyer for AJ’s custody, Connor left them alone. After spending most of the first day without the elder MacLeod hovering nearby, Richie realized Connor was unlike his cousin. Duncan would have pressed for more information under the guise of chatting. The lack of pressure made Richie nervous. To compensate, he minimized his and AJ’s forays out into the living room or the kitchen. He hoped by doing so, they would be less of an intrusion on Connor. To Richie’s surprise, the tactic worked; Connor only asked him and AJ to join him for dinner.

By the end of the third day, the snowstorm had dumped its load on the city. Richie had found a box of alphabet blocks in one of the dresser drawers. From the lack of wear, he surmised they were new. AJ happily stacked blocks and then destroyed them. Richie tried to make sure the blocks didn’t go under anything.

Thanks to the constant exposure, Richie could now discern when the older immortal was approaching his door. Footsteps on the hardwood floor outside the open guest room door confirmed the sensation.

Connor stepped into view. A smile lit his face as he saw AJ playing with the blocks. “Rachel will be pleased you found those.”

“Who’s Rachel?”

“My daughter,” Connor revealed, surprising Richie, who had not known this. “She’ll be here tomorrow for dinner.”

“Oh,” Richie said lamely. “I saw through the window the snow stopped.”

Connor nodded. “We should go out, enjoy it before it turns into slush.”

Richie froze. “You should go without me,” he managed.

Connor considered him. “You haven’t been outside since the storm started. I thought you might have cabin fever.”

“No, I’m good. I enjoy being warm.”

“What about AJ?”

Richie bit back the instinctive protest as his panic rose. He swallowed hard, hating that the mere suggestion of going out was making him hyperventilate. This was the reason he had come to New York. Killing another of his kind sometimes had helped stave off the panic, but he recognized that was not enough. He would hurt AJ if he wasn’t careful. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus.

Hands gripped his arms. “Breathe, Richie. One deep breath, that’s it, in, out slowly.”

His vision cleared to find Connor kneeling before him, holding him steady. “How often do you have panic attacks?” Connor asked as he let go.

Richie closed his eyes briefly. “It’s gotten worse since I quit drinking. When I realized I had AJ to take care of, I stopped drinking to get drunk.”

“Are you doing any drugs?” Connor’s voice held no censure.

“No.” Offended, Richie glared at Connor. “Didn’t help Brian Cullen get any better.”

Connor’s face reflected surprise at that name. “You met Brian?”

“He tried to kill me by running me off the road. Mac tried to convince him to quit drinking and taking drugs, but Brian forced him to take his head. I don’t want to be that guy.” Richie bit his lip. “But I can’t sleep and I’m no good at much else.”

“Richie, according to everything I’ve heard, you’ve been hunting non-stop for seventeen years, going after the worst of us. If you set out to prove you’re capable of playing the Game, you’ve done it and then some. Did you ever let yourself rest and enjoy the places you’ve been, or have you been running all this time?”

“Mostly running, but sometimes if I needed more money or wasn’t sure how long it would take me to figure out who to target, I’d stay and work at a restaurant. I didn’t stay too long; I figured if I did, someone would find me, and I didn’t want to make anyone else a target. I’d find the big headhunter, take their head and their money, and then track down if they taught anyone else to follow them. I don’t–” He took a shuddering breath. “I should go, let you take care of AJ.”

“And walk into someone else’s blade in the next few hours, so it’ll look like an accident?” Connor derided. At Richie’s jerk of surprise, Connor noted, “My cousin failed you, but that’s on him, not you. Fear is the root of your panic. Sleep, a stable home, less stress about AJ—all that will take time, and your panic attacks will be less frequent. You know that or else you wouldn’t have gone hunting in my backyard.”

Richie bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“AJ’s a pre-immortal; that’s why you haven’t left her behind. Gaining official custody will take more than a few days. The court will want to prove you’re a fit parent with a good living situation for AJ. They may want to find AJ’s mother to prove she has no custodial rights. I can help you find a therapist, but that also will take time and commitment. If you’re not ready for that, we can call CPS and report we found a child. That will free you to go anywhere, but it won’t decrease your panic attacks or resolve your fears. It’ll only add to your sense of failure.”

“You sound like the voice of experience.”

“Duncan and I smuggled an eight-year-old Jewish girl named Rachel out of Nazi-occupied Germany in World War II. He insisted I raise her so he could go back to the war. I considered dumping her onto the nearest motherly figure I could more than once,” Connor noted wryly. “I hired a nanny instead and made sure Rachel knew I would never abandon her. AJ’s younger, so she’ll grow up trusting you.”

“If she goes into foster care, she might wind up broken like me. I can’t do that.”

Connor said nothing, waiting for Richie to commit.

Richie closed his eyes briefly. “If it goes on for longer than a year, I make no promises about staying.”

Looking unsurprised by that qualifier, Connor nodded. “Have you shown her the fish tank?”

“Not yet. That thing is huge.”

Amused, Connor looked at him expectantly.

“You want to see fish, AJ?”

AJ considered the notion. “Fish?” She stopped playing with the blocks.

“Come on, baby girl, let’s go see the fish in the living room,” Richie said, picking her up.

The fish tank was the largest Richie had ever seen in someone’s home. AJ stared at it, awed, and pressed her face against the glass as she stood on the sofa.

“What fish is that?” Richie asked, seeing the golden-hued fish in the tank.

“Goldfish,” Connor told him, amused.

Richie stared at him. “That’s goldfish? They’re huge!”

“It’s what happens when you give them room to grow, feed them well, and keep them healthy,” Connor noted.

Richie’s eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

Connor met his suspicious gaze. “You look thinner than I remember, more like the hungry wolf you were when you were still living on the streets. You look even more exhausted. Your Presence doesn’t feel right. Are you trying to pull yourself in?”

Richie stared at him, impressed at the deduction.

Connor sighed. “You’ll wear yourself out doing that. You aren’t bothering me by being here, Richie. If I thought you were, I’d have taken care of Dominic Cleburne myself and asked you to leave town. You need not make yourself invisible or eat less so you don’t impinge on my food supply.”

Richie closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t want to owe you more than I already do.”

“Not counting,” Connor replied firmly. “I’ll get you a key to the front door after the New Year so you can come and go as you please. I don’t have spares and the locksmith I trust is closed for the holidays. My only request is that you let me know so one of us is with AJ. AJ! No hitting the glass; that scares the fish.” His tone was sharp but firm.

AJ turned at the reprimand but stopped. “Fish,” she repeated. “Pretty.”

Relief rushed through Richie as he realized Connor would discipline AJ with words spoken in a command tone, not fists or yelling. “Yes, sweetie, pretty fish,” he confirmed, and she reached her arms out to him.

Richie picked her up, shifting her weight to his left side to keep his sword hand free. Turning to Connor, he asked, “What do you want from me in exchange?”

“You sober, taking care of AJ, teaching her to read, write, and live. When you’re ready, I’d love to spar against you and teach you. That’s an invitation, not a mandatory order. If you bring a lover to bed, don’t bring them home here. Clean up any messes you make and keep your room and bathroom clean. Questions about anything,” Connor emphasized the word ‘anything,’ “come talk. I’m not a dictator and this house isn’t a prison, but I reserve the right to focus on safety and privacy.” Connor studied Richie a moment. “Is anyone hunting you?”

“Probably.” Richie tried to shrug it off, but Connor’s look refused to let him. “Look, I’ve probably killed a friend or two of yours or Duncan’s. I won’t apologize for it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Connor returned. “When your challengers come, let me know.”

“So you can claim you’re better and older, so the right of the challenge goes to you?” Richie sneered.

Startled, Connor looked at Richie. “My cousin did that to you?”

“All the time. Last time we talked, he tried to tell me I couldn’t fight Haresh Clay because he had an older grudge to settle.”

Connor shook his head. “I was thinking more about ensuring AJ’s safety. You want to fight, walk away, fuck your challenger rather than take their heads—that’s your choice. You’ve survived this long; I trust your ability to know when to take a challenge and when not to. If you don’t want me there to see what happens, that’s also negotiable.”

Richie let out a breath. “I can agree to that.” He heard AJ’s stomach rumble. “But lunch is an excellent idea.”

Connor smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

####  _December 28, 2012_

In hindsight, Richie should have expected the question. After breakfast, Richie set up AJ in a corner of the living room with the new toys Connor had bought for her. After making sure she was happily playing, Richie picked up the newspaper, figuring he could peruse the classified ads.

He got as far as seeing the usual swath of restaurant ads before the sound of footsteps alerted him to Connor’s arrival.

“Tell me about what happened with my cousin.”

Richie froze. “What difference does it make?”

Taking a seat on the couch across from him, the elder MacLeod noted, “I’d like your side of the story.”

Richie hunched his shoulders. “He attacked me in the dojo. I didn’t know anything was wrong with him, except he was acting…” Richie closed his eyes briefly. “I see it in nightmares, him asking me if I thought I was good enough, his sword at my neck. If Joe hadn’t shot him, I wouldn’t be alive now.”

“Joe?”

“Joe Dawson, his Watcher. Surely you know about them?”

Connor nodded. “Duncan told me. They tried to recruit my daughter. She told them no.”

“Daughter?” Remembering what Connor had told him. “Right, you said her name was Rachel.”

“She’s wanted to meet you ever since she found out about you. Duncan told her you weren’t ready.”

Richie snorted. “He told me you had no family other than him.”

That made Connor pause. “What else did he tell you?”

“Not to piss off anyone immortal,” Richie quipped.

At Connor’s glare, Richie shrugged. “He kicked me out after I took my first head. He was pissed off I hadn’t listened to him, even though me taking Mako’s head was not planned. Claimed it was because I’d proven myself in the Game and didn’t need him anymore. I didn’t see him again until Martin Hyde framed me for murder and I ran straight to Mac because I was too tired and too scared to think of anywhere else to go.” Richie grimaced. “Turns out that was what Hyde wanted me to do so he could try for Mac’s head.”

“Mac never mentioned the ways a hunter could target you.”

“No. I mean, I knew some of it from that crazy awful year I spent wondering why you and he thought my ass was worth saving—he had headhunters and old friends showing up like it was going out of style. But not Hyde or how we can overload or shit I learned by winning.” Richie wished for a drink and stared at AJ, who was singing a nonsense song.

“If he came here and apologized, would you believe him?”

“I’ll believe he means it,” Richie said evenly. “Why are you asking? He’s not here, is he?”

“No, he’s not here, and he’s not on the phone, either. I’m asking because I want to understand how much he hurt you.”

“I didn’t want to listen to anything he said. I’m only good enough for certain things. I had to go away to get better, so he can’t hurt me.”

“Richie.” Connor’s voice sliced through the rising surge of self-loathing. “Did you know about Dark Quickenings before he took one?”

“No.”

“Did you know we could overload?”

“No.”

“Did you trust him implicitly to never hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you try to run or grab your sword when you realized he was a threat?”

“Yes, but he blocked me.”

“You did nothing wrong, Richie. A lesser man under the same circumstances would have been crushed under the weight of what you survived.”

Richie considered this. “Did he tell you about what happened to him?”

“He said he’d taken a Dark Quickening but had gotten better after a friend took him to a holy spring.” Connor paused. “I asked him about you. He said he didn’t know where you were, but he hoped you were okay. I assumed you had been out on the road, as you often were, and had escaped the danger. It wasn’t until I started hearing rumors of you being a headhunter that I realized something had happened.”

Richie stared at him. Wary, he asked, “Are you going to tell him I’m here?”

“No.”

“But Joe will tell him, if he’s still Duncan’s Watcher. Then he’ll show up here.”

“That may happen, but you don’t need to talk to him if you don’t want to. He’ll want to apologize for what he did.”

Richie made a face at that. “Don’t need an apology, but I don’t want to cause trouble for you, either.”

“I’ll handle him,” Connor assured him. “When did you find out he was better?”

“Joe told me; I’d stopped by his bar to say hello. He tried to get me to talk to Duncan, but I refused.” Something made him add, “I remember defeating Haresh Clay with a move I’d never done before. I barely remember what happened afterward—just this overwhelming grief and a vague sense I spent a good chunk of a week drunk.”

Alarmed, Connor asked, “Has that happened since?”

“No,” Richie said flatly. “I'd taken Carter Wellan's head; that was why Haresh wanted mine. Best I can figure out is that I took Haresh out with a move only Carter knew. But it made me reconsider how I was getting better at the Game.” He rose, restless as the memories threatened to topple his hard-won equilibrium. Needing something to do, he headed over to where AJ was playing. She had moved on to a shape-sorter toy shaped like a house and was trying to shove her new baby doll into the toy, where it did not fit.

“Sweetie, that’s not where that goes,” he told her, kneeling on the floor beside her.

“Baby in house,” AJ told him.

“Yes, but not that house. Baby doesn’t fit. You can put her beside the house.”

AJ frowned at that.

“She’s safe under a tent.” Hastily, Richie took the newspaper and turned it into a tent for the doll.

Pleased by this solution, AJ continued to play.

He felt, more than saw, Connor move to his right. “How long have you had her?”

“Six months. Woke up after what I thought was a fun night to a note and her, but not her mother.”

Connor studied him. “Why me and not Duncan?”

“Because I knew how to defeat Dominic,” Richie admitted. “And I figured you might be more amiable if you owed me a favor.”

“You could have just knocked and asked.”

Richie flashed him a smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Connor looked at him steadily.

Richie sighed impatiently. “Dominic has a condo south of the city I’d planned on crashing in if you said no.”

“And after that?”

Richie bit his lip. “Probably lose an afternoon to a panic attack and forget to feed AJ. She’s gotten good at throwing tantrums to get me to feed her. Didn’t think you’d say yes.”

Connor chuckled dryly. “Figured you’d run when AJ was safe.”

“Might still,” Richie admitted. “I don’t….” He took a deep breath. “I don’t feel safe right now. There’s a part of me that wants to drink or get on my bike and find someone to fight.”

“The third floor used to be a ballroom; I still use it to spar in.”

At Richie’s wary look, Connor elaborated, “We’ll use bokken, keep it safe.”

“What about AJ?”

“What do you do when you go to fight?”

“Lock her in the hotel room with the TV and tell her not to make noise,” Richie admitted. “If we’d ended up in a house or a condo with a master bedroom with a bathroom attached, I’d barricade her into that room before I left.” He sighed. “She started walking and that’s when I knew I couldn’t do it that way forever.”

Connor reached over and patted Richie on the shoulder. “I’ll call Rachel; she’ll watch AJ.”

Richie closed his eyes and forced himself to exhale slowly before he opened his eyes and nodded agreement.

* * *

Richie was not sure what kind of person he expected to meet when he pictured Connor’s daughter. The image he had in mind was not a slender woman with a delicate beauty. Even in her seventies, she projected confidence and poise. Her platinum blonde hair was styled in elegant waves that framed her long, oval face. Her soft makeup and her choice of a long-sleeved blouse, skirt, and knee-high leather boots added to Richie’s impression of quiet elegance and strength.

When Connor made the introductions and Rachel greeted him, however, Richie recognized her. “You’re the person I talked to on the phone when Mac wanted me to sell the antique store. You told me to call you if I ever needed someone.”

“I assumed you knew who I was,” Rachel declared as she took his hands and clasped them gently.

Richie shook his head. “I wish I’d known.” He bit his lip before admitting, “I still probably wouldn’t have called you.”

Unsurprised, Rachel smiled. “Stubbornness is a family trait.”

Richie barked a laugh. “I never thought about it that way. Thanks for the alphabet blocks for AJ.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Let me introduce you to AJ before I go, so she knows you’re friendly.” He led the way over to the corner of the living room where AJ sat playing.

“Hey, pumpkin,” he cooed, “this is Rachel. Rachel, this is Aurora Jasmine, better known as AJ.”

AJ stared at Rachel, unsure, and hid her face.

Rachel reassured Richie, “That’s normal for her age. My daughter didn’t want to speak to anyone other than me until she was four.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “How old is your daughter now?”

“Old enough to have given me a grandson who graduated college,” Rachel shook her head, marveling a little at how time had passed. “Now go and spar with Connor before he gets impatient. AJ and I will be fine, and if we’re not, I know where you are. I grew up in this house.”

“So you did,” Richie acknowledged. “And thanks in advance.”

Rachel nodded. With an ease that belied her age, she sat down on the floor and began playing with the toddler, who quickly warmed up to her.

Richie took one last look before following Connor up the stairs to the third floor. As promised, the entire floor was a formal ballroom. Once Connor turned on the lights, Richie saw that the room had windows on three sides of the room. Heavy drapes covered the windows, guaranteeing privacy. Connor opened a closet on the unwindowed side and pulled out two bokken. He handed one to Richie before telling him, “If, at any time, you feel uncomfortable, tell me to stop and I will.”

Richie nodded. Once, he would have trembled at the thought of going up against Connor, even as a friendly spar. Now, he hoped Connor had the right idea by choosing this method of settling Richie’s desire to fight.

Within a few minutes, Richie forgot his apprehension. Connor sparred with him as if they were using swords instead of wooden facsimiles. Once Richie realized that, he let himself fall into the rhythm of fighting and discovered the glory of knowing this was not life or death.

The afternoon passed quickly, punctuated by the sound of wood striking wood or flesh and occasional swear words. Both men were dripping with sweat before Connor parried Richie’s strike and then forced him to yield.

“Damn you,” Richie ground out, realizing he had no means to counter the strike, pinned as he was to the ground and without his favorite backup weapon.

“Heh.” Connor grinned. “Do you yield?”

“Yes, damn it.”

Connor’s smile widened before he stepped back, releasing Richie. “Feel better?”

“No, because now I’m pissed off,” Richie shot back. He forced himself to calm. “If this was a real fight, I’d have my boot knife.”

Connor nodded. “A handy thing to have, but you can become overly reliant on it.”

“Clearly.” Richie paced a few steps away before turning back to face the other immortal and formally bowing, then returning the bokken. “Thank you.” He walked out of the ballroom before he could blurt out a request for training. He had to focus on what he had come here to do—to make sure AJ was safe—and forget about asking for more. That way lay danger.

* * *

Connor watched him leave. _Too soon_ , he told himself. He put away the bokken, mopped the floor, and turned out the lights before heading downstairs. Rachel met him on the second floor, looking concerned.

“I put AJ down for a nap. I heard Richie come downstairs and then leave. What did you say to him?”

“Nothing he wanted to hear.” Ignoring the frown Rachel sent him, Connor headed downstairs to check the security feed from the cameras installed on the exterior of the building. The younger immortal’s presence thrummed through Connor, alerting Connor that Richie had not gone far. The second floor’s massive, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows enabled Connor to see most of the building’s perimeter, but the security feed to the monitoring panel installed near the elevator had better clarity, thanks to the exterior cameras.

The security feed revealed Richie paced the alley along the back of the building as he muttered and clenched his fists. To Connor’s relief, Richie wore a jacket; when Richie turned, Connor could see the hilt of Richie’s sword poking out from the cross-draw sheath he had slipped on over the jacket.

Connor hesitated. The security system had audio; a keystroke would enable him to hear what Richie was saying. With a grimace, Connor decided against listening in and opted instead to exit the study, grab his coat and sword, and walk outside.

“Was it something I said?” Connor asked.

Richie shook his head. “No.” He looked skyward a moment before elaborating, “Been a while since I sparred for fun.”

 _And you don’t want to get used to it,_ Connor deduced. “Rachel put AJ down for a nap. Did you want to help me cook dinner?”

“Long as you don’t mind a second cook in the kitchen.”

“How do you think I taught Rachel and Mac?”

Richie snorted. “That’s different,” he argued, but he followed Connor back into the house without elaborating on his argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, constructive criticism, and suggestions for what happens next welcome. 😀


	3. Chapter 3

#### December 31, 2012 - New Year’s Eve

Richie stared out the window of the ballroom. Fog had rolled in with nightfall, making him glad he was not on his motorcycle, navigating it. Having left Connor and Rachel to their conversation about people he did not know, he had bathed AJ and put her to bed. Unable to sleep, he explored the ballroom instead, hoping the open space would quell the urge to run.

 _Now is a fabulous time to go,_ a voice whispered in his head. _AJ is safe. If you leave now, you can drain Dominic’s bank account, drive down to Florida, and have fun. No more worrying about a little girl—just you, your motorcycle, and your sword._

Richie closed his eyes briefly, aware he was shaking, and not from the cold seeping through the old windows.

 _Coward,_ the voice in his head accused.

He focused on breathing instead. Exhaustion dogged his bones, but he did not dare leave the ballroom. The temptation to crawl into AJ’s bed so he could clutch her tight was like a siren call. The first three nights, he had fallen asleep with no problems in the guest room bed, pleased to see AJ sleeping in the toddler bed next to it. The mention of Duncan had triggered the old nightmare/memory, except now it was worse. The new nightmare involved AJ. Before AJ, Richie had used a mix of sex, alcohol, and adrenaline to find slumber.

 _Connor has Scotch,_ the damnable voice whispered. _Drink and you’ll sleep._

Needing support, Richie leaned his head on the window, hoping the frosty glass would help shut up that voice. Counting the days he had spent sober was no help; it only hammered home how different his life had become.

The sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor made him turn and drop the curtain. Belatedly, he remembered he had propped open the door when he entered, unwilling to be in a dark room without an exit.

Rachel flipped on the lights in the room before she crossed the floor to stand before him. She carried a pair of champagne flutes, both filled with a bubbly liquid.

“Connor’s already gone to bed; I’ve no one to toast the new year with. Will you join me?”

Richie hesitated, certain if he drank champagne, he could not stop. “Is it alcoholic?”

Rachel shook her head. “I can’t drink anymore because of the medications I take. It’s sparkling pear juice.”

Relieved by that compromise, he took the flute she handed him.

“Now, I’d like to propose a toast: to new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” he echoed, tapped his glass against Rachel’s, and then sipped the sparkling pear juice. The taste surprised him, and he decided he liked it.

“Figured you’d head home after dinner.”

“Because I’m old?” She lifted an eyebrow and stood before him, radiating confidence and vitality.

Richie winced at her correct assessment. “Yes?”

“I may not be immortal, but I’m also not liable to turn into a pumpkin at midnight.” She met his gaze. “Though there have been many times when Connor made me wish I could.”

He ducked his head sheepishly. “Sorry.” He paused before adding, “I can’t see him embarrassing you. He loves you.”

Rachel chuckled. “He checked out my friends’ parents and drove me crazy asking questions about my suitors. My husband swore he would never be good enough for Connor.”

“Is your husband still alive?”

“No, he died protesting the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City.” Rachel shook her head at the memory. “He wanted me to go with him, but I’d just found out I was pregnant, so I told him no. We argued, and he drove down anyway. The last time I spoke to him was on the phone the morning the police shot him.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “How come?”

Rachel sighed. “Sometimes, protesting means you put yourself in the line of fire. They call what happened the Tlatelolco massacre. I’ve poured over all the info that’s been available for years, trying to answer the question of why. The answer is: the Mexican government violently repressed political and social opposition. If my husband had listened to me, he might still be alive today. But he wouldn’t have been the same man I fell in love with, either. He believed in advocacy and in the power of protest.”

“How long were you married?”

“Eight years. Connor was so thrilled to walk me down the aisle to hand me to Paul. Paul said later he was terrified the entire time that my father would not give me away.” Rachel smiled at the memory. “We wanted children so badly, but I didn’t get pregnant for years. It made me wonder if Connor had only told me I wouldn’t be like him to scare me.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “I thought we weren’t supposed to tell someone if they’ll be immortal!”

Rachel grinned. “It’s a good rule to have; not everyone will handle it well. Connor wanted me to know that if I was going to be a grand idiot now that I’d reached the age of majority, I wouldn’t survive like he had when he was eighteen.”

“‘Grand idiot’?”

“He insisted on joining the clan battle, despite his cousins telling him he wasn’t ready yet. If the Kurgan had succeeded then, entire histories would have been rewritten.”

“The Kurgan was responsible for Connor’s first death?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know that part of the story,” Richie admitted. “Why did he tell you?”

“He wanted me to understand the risk he had taken then, the magnitude of the repercussions. It was the only way he could get through my head that I wasn’t as invincible as I believed.” Rachel paused before adding, “I wanted to fight and join the military.”

“He wouldn’t let you?”

Rachel shook her head. “Oh, he would’ve let me. I decided I didn’t like what the recruiters were telling me and opted to attend college instead.”

“Tessa was excited about marrying Mac,” Richie blurted. “Then the same mugger who shot her shot me and sometimes… sometimes I used to wonder if it would’ve been better if I’d stayed dead.”

Rachel studied him. “Do you still, now that you rescued AJ?”

“No. I mean, someone else might have found her, but….” Richie shook his head and held up his flute of sparkling pear juice in a toast. “Go me, I guess.”

“No guessing about it, Richie. You acted to save a life.”

Outside, illegal fireworks boomed from somewhere a few blocks away.

“Speaking of AJ, I should go down and make sure she’s not hearing all the explosions.”

Rachel shook her head. “She shouldn’t be, since I put noise-cancelling earmuffs on her before I came upstairs.”

“You seem to have all the answers for how to take care of AJ.”

She smiled. “Noise-canceling earmuffs sized for a toddler didn’t exist when I had my daughter, but Amazon is wonderful for suggesting products. I remembered how loud it’s gotten in this neighborhood; the police aren’t arresting people for fireworks unless someone gets hurt or something burns.” She sipped her sparkling pear juice. “And of course, I worry about you. You’re family.”

Confused, Richie asked, “Why?”

“Because Connor adopted you as his family. That makes you my nephew, at least in my way of thinking.”

Richie stared at her, astonished. “You’re claiming me as family, even knowing what I’ve done?”

“What have you done?” Rachel returned, in a tone that reflected curiosity, not censure.

“Killed people who didn’t deserve to die, in the name of playing the Game.”

“I’m not your judge, jury, or executioner,” she replied. “That’s for God to decide. Do you plan on continuing down that path?”

“No,” Richie admitted. Her lack of judgement made it easier for him to continue. “Haven’t done it in years, really. After I took Haresh Clay’s head, it…just wasn’t the same.” He decided against telling her that Quickening had left him shaken, unable to remember what happened in the time between he delivered the killing stroke and the time he had woken up in a five-star hotel three states away. “I decided then to go after the really bad guys then. But…my hands aren’t clean.”

“Neither are mine.”

Startled by that admission, Richie drew back before he realized why. Even when Duncan had tried to shield Tessa and Richie from the worst of his enemies, a few had still hurt them. If Richie had been forced to fight back and defend himself, then Rachel would have likely had similar experiences. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she declared. “And we haven’t addressed my worries. After dinner, you looked like you wanted to run screaming out the door as soon as you got AJ bathed and into bed.”

He let out a breath. “Might still.”

“Have you slept in the last twenty-four hours?”

“No,” he admitted, and sipped the last of the sparkling pear juice. “I keep expecting….”

Rachel waited a moment before prompting, “What?”

“Mac to arrive,” he admitted. “Or hell, anyone else who’d take AJ away from me.” He gestured with his free hand. “I thought Connor might help; I didn’t expect you to help me, too. This feels surreal.”

“And will continue to feel that way until you get some sleep,” she told him tartly. “Ask Connor in the morning about Mac if you’re that worried.” Rachel took his glass. “Now, don’t make me put you to bed.”

Richie looked at her and realized she would. “Happy New Year, Rachel.”

“Happy New Year, Richie.”

* * *

#### Tuesday, January 15, 2013

After getting lunch at a nearby deli, Connor found Richie on the phone, seated behind the desk in the area Connor used as his study. Richie nodded a greeting but did not relinquish his grip on the dagger that sat, sheathed, on the desk. Connor dropped off the sandwich Richie had not requested but suspected he would eat and retreated.

“Six months?! That’s–” Richie bit back the rest of the retort and calmed, letting go of the dagger. “Right. Residency requirements. Excuse me a moment.” He covered the receiver. “Thanks for the sandwich. Did you need me for something?”

Connor shook his head. “When you’re done, come talk to me, please.”

Wondering where AJ was, Connor headed back upstairs to check on her and found a note on the door that said, “Nap time!”

Assured by that, Connor picked up a book from a bookshelf that lined the hallway and headed downstairs to the sectional in the sunken living room. The open floor plan meant Connor heard Richie talking on the phone, but out of respect, Connor chose not to eavesdrop.

While Connor waited, he read the book, which engaged his imagination. He got to the end and realized more time had passed than the average phone call. The house felt oddly empty. With a start, he realized he couldn’t sense Richie’s Presence. Alarmed, he searched the house. The wrapper for the sandwich was in the trash next to the desk; Connor was relieved to see Richie had at least eaten before leaving. AJ was still in the guest room, but she had woken from her nap. Connor took a few moments to settle her on the floor in the sunken living room with some toys while he checked the garage. The cell phone Connor had bought for Richie on New Year’s Eve still sat, charging, on the nightstand in the guest bedroom. After he found Richie’s motorcycle gone, Connor centered himself, and reached out to find him.

Thanks to the Kurgan, Connor’s ability to sense others was unparalleled. With little effort, he could find every immortal who lived in or was visiting metro New York. He used that talent now, finding Richie still within the city limits. Richie was on his motorcycle, trying to find an empty road to push his motorcycle to a faster speed. Connor left him to it, realizing that the younger immortal needed space, and went to play with AJ.

As time passed, Connor made dinner for himself and AJ, then bathed her and put her to bed. Wanting the best place to wait, Connor positioned himself in front of the TV, which he had set up in the space between the kitchen and the elevator.

It was past nine o’clock when Richie returned. When he did not appear on the garage stairs, Connor resisted the urge to head down and check on him, suspecting that doing so would not help. His patience was rewarded when Richie trudged up the stairs.

Connor shut off the TV and greeted him. “Needed to get out?”

Richie ran a hand through his hair, which his helmet had flattened. “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “Sorry; I lost track of time. Is AJ still awake?”

“No. We had dinner; she loves peas and carrots.”

That brought a brief smile to Richie’s face. “Yeah. Didn’t want her to hate vegetables. Thanks for feeding her and putting her to bed. I, uh,” he blew out a breath, “got pissed off.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “At what? Something you didn’t want to hear on that phone call I interrupted?”

Richie swallowed hard and set his helmet down on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch to undo his boots. Once that task was complete, he put the boots in the coat closet, hung up his motorcycle jacket, and removed his sword from its sheath in the coat. With exaggerated care, he set his sword in the umbrella stand at the base of the stairs.

“Lawyer says I have to establish AJ’s residency here, so the court has proper jurisdiction. That’s at least six months. He also says it’ll cost more to prove that I didn’t steal AJ from her mother. I didn’t fucking steal AJ. Her whore mother abandoned her after saddling her with fucking Disney princess names. Just hearing the damn lawyer say ‘Aurora Jasmine Williams’ makes me want to throw something. My girl’s AJ, damn it.”

“And staying is a problem because?” Connor prompted.

“Because I figure that’s long enough for your cousin to decide he has to see me. I know you said I don’t have to talk to him, but I remember what he was like. He’ll come anyway.”

Connor sighed. “He already knows you’re here. Joe Dawson told him, so he called me this morning. I convinced Mac to stay put.”

“And he’ll listen to you?” Richie wondered, incredulous.

“He usually does.”

Richie closed his eyes briefly. “I’d like to believe you.”

Unsurprised by that comment, Connor studied him. “That’s not the only reason you went for a drive.”

Richie looked away for a moment before he exhaled heavily. “Hit me hard when the lawyer told me how much it might cost before the court awards custody. He said it could be $3,000, or it could be $40,000 or more.” Richie looked at Connor. “Made it real.”

“Do you have the money?”

“Yeah. After I’ve won, I’ve been taking the loser’s money when I figured out they didn’t have anyone who’d care what happened. Stashed into an account I could access anywhere, but it’s not in my real name.”

“That’s why you asked me not to introduce you to the lawyer as Richie,” Connor realized.

Richie nodded. “But now… part of me wishes I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else.”

“You could become Richie again.”

To his surprise, the younger immortal shook his head. “Your cousin reported me dead to Washington State. I found out when I tried to renew my license. They wanted me to prove I was not dead. I got pissed off and didn’t want to deal with the paperwork.”

Connor understood. “I have a friend who handles identities but going through her to reestablish you as Richie Ryan would delay your custody fight.”

“Yeah, figured as much; that’s why I had to go out.” Richie paced the room. “I don’t understand why the hell Mac reported me dead. What would he get by doing that? All he had to do was ask Joe; Joe would’ve told him I was alive, at least. I called him a few times so he wouldn’t worry.”

“The report I heard was that you fought Karson Kertzmann in Phoenix, in a building that exploded.”

Richie grimaced. “He had it wired to blow. Was bragging about how he was going to win. I ran when I realized what he intended to do. Figured I’d rather be alive.” He winced at the memory. “Got out of the building and out to the alley. The Quickening hit me about the same time as the shock wave. Remember him shouting in my head he was going to take over, win from the inside. He had assumed I was nobody, like I wasn’t ready for that kind of fight.”

Connor stared at him, concerned. “Did he?”

“No.” Richie met the older immortal’s gaze. “If I’d met him that first year I was headhunting, it would’ve been a different story, but Kertzmann was two years after I’d taken Haresh Clay’s head. Taking Haresh’s head was the closest I’ve ever come to blacking out after a Quickening. That freaked me out. Lost a few days. I did a hell of a lot more mediating after that. Didn’t want to lose that much time and wake up in a completely different state. Still have no clue what I did in those three days, except put a hell of lot of miles on my motorcycle and drink too much.” He took a breath. “But I figured after Kertzmann, I’d better lie low, in case anyone was looking for me. Nowadays, I’m always thinking about how scared AJ will be if I don’t come back. She’s what I hold on to. I have to be whole and sane when I come back, or I’ll hurt her. But that still doesn’t help me understand why you or Mac believed I was dead.”

“I didn’t hear your name for years; nobody saw or heard of you after 1998. All I heard was that there was a new headhunter named Cary Heirin, making a name for himself. The descriptions were consistent: male, wore a black knit cap, used leather gloves, wielded a Turkish saber, and spoke English with a French accent. I didn’t realize it was you until I figured out ‘Cary Heirin’ was an anagram of ‘Richie Ryan.’”

Richie sagged into a chair. “Told myself I was being too cute using that, but I liked it.” He bounced out of the chair again and walked to the fish tank. “I stopped dyeing my hair two months ago, after AJ grabbed one of the dye bottles and tried to chew on it. She didn’t swallow anything, thankfully, but it scared me.” He sat down again, this time on the other end of the sectional from Connor. “You thought I’d died.”

“I didn’t have any proof otherwise. If Mac had asked for my opinion, I’d have asked for confirmation before I did anything.”

“But you don’t know why he did.”

“He thought the same as I did—that Kertzmann had won.”

Richie swore and crossed his arms. “I’m not that idiot. He didn’t know how to fight with a sword; that’s why he was cheating with explosives.”

“I believe you,” Connor reassured him.

Richie’s posture eased.

“I’m more concerned with why you think you need to run. You have enough money for the custody fight; if you need more, let me know. What’s scaring you now?”

Relief washed through Richie and he sat down on the couch. “I’ll take any help you give, Connor. Last two weeks have been the first time in a long time I’ve slept without jerking awake. I used to wonder if I’d smothered AJ in her sleep. Or worse. But if I’m not doing anything, it’s too easy to let the voices in my head convince me to drink. Any objections using this address for jobs?”

Connor shook his head. “As long as you don’t plan on doing anything illegal.”

“No.” He hesitated before adding, “Tessa taught me how to weld and got me certified so I could help her. It’s under my actual name, not my current identity, but I was looking at what’s needed to become a certified welder here in this state, and it doesn’t look too hard. It’s steadier work than being a line cook in a restaurant, pays better, and I won't be tempted to drink.”

“You don’t have to rush into working,” Connor assured him. “Take as long as you need.”

Richie met his gaze. “Lawyer also said it would look better to the court if I had steady employment to show my ability to provide for AJ.”

“You could tell him you came to me so you could work in the family business while you established your welder credentials,” Connor offered. “While I closed the antique shop, I still own several properties in the metro area besides this building under a property management and realty investment company, Eterna Properties.”

“Mac told me you had an antique store on Hudson Street. When I saw it was now a coffee shop, I thought maybe you’d left the city. Then you came to watch me see what I’d do about Dominic Cleburne.”

Connor shrugged. “Neighborhood needed an independent coffee shop more than it needed an antique store. Besides, closing the store and renovating the space was the only way I could ensure Rachel would enjoy her retirement.”

Richie considered what Connor had said. “What would you want me to do?”

“I have a maintenance crew and property managers on staff, but I like to spot check and make sure they aren’t slacking off,” Connor told him. “I was in New Jersey when you arrived, else I would’ve known you were here sooner. You’ve lived in low-income housing; you know what it looks like when the tenants destroy property, and the property managers stop caring.”

“Yeah,” Richie nodded. “Couple of the families who fostered me had little themselves.” He paused. “Does it take a lot of time?”

Connor shook his head. “No, but what I own is spread out enough that I’ve been considering splitting the effort with someone else. I’ll pay you a reasonable salary, comparable to what others are getting paid for similar work.”

“Sure, as long as you tell me what you want done at each place so I’m not making it up as I go along.” He contemplated what the lawyer had said. “It won’t look funny if I don’t have a work history?”

“You’ll have a work history showing you’ve been scouting properties for me outside the tri-state area. Where were you last?”

“Virginia.”

“Reasonable I’d consider expanding my holdings down there. I’ll show you as employed as of October 1.” Connor leaned forward and studied him a moment. “What else are you worried about?”

“You deciding to kick me and AJ out unexpectedly. Disappointing you.” _The way I disappointed your cousin,_ Richie thought.

“You’d have to piss me off a lot before I left you or AJ without shelter. That said, you’re going to disappoint me,” Connor predicted, startling him.

“Then why bother?” Richie did not understand why, and his frustration made him stand and pace.

“Because disappointment is part of living. How you manage and mitigate disappointment is by communication. Did I make my intentions and expectations clear to you? Did you ask questions? Was I unreasonable, and you stomped off and chose not do what I asked rather than tell me what you thought?”

“You mean you don’t expect me to read your mind?”

Connor half-smiled. “Not unless you know how to do that, and you have asked my permission.”

“I’ve learned how to hide my Presence and some useful magic tricks, but not that.” Richie paused. “Can we do that? I mean, I know about Voice. That feels creepy and invasive.”

“It can be done,” Connor said neutrally.

Richie grimaced at that news. “Yeah, figured as much.” He paused. “Not something you can do, though?”

“If I could, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Richie barked a laugh at that. “True. Probably would give me a headache, with my luck.” He bit his lip before adding, “I felt you, out there when I was on the interstate. Took me a minute before I realized it wasn’t the other immortal following me who was headed to Long Island.”

Now it was Connor’s turn to stare. “You felt me reaching out to find you.”

“Yeah. I don’t remember when I started being able to notice individual immortal presences, but it’s been a useful skill to have.”

“Richie, you realize most of us never learn how to do that.”

He shrugged. “Figured it was a bonus from all the heads I’ve taken. You’re a wave of power like nobody else, so you stick out anyway. I take it everyone else doesn’t notice you reaching out?”

“Not usually, no.”

“Oh.” Richie mulled that over. “That’s not an undesirable thing, is it?”

Connor chuckled and patted his forearm reassuringly. “No. I wouldn’t advertise it, though.”

“I’m not that stupid,” Richie snapped.

Connor looked at him, tilting his head enough to convey his displeasure at the assumption.

“Sorry. You have every right to chastise me about shit like that. You don’t know what I’d say to others, but really, I don’t talk about half the shit that’s happened to me to anyone. Like how tasting food before a Quickening fully settles is like riding a rollercoaster. Never know what will suddenly taste foreign or will taste like purple or God forbid, neon pink.”

That got him a rueful smile. “Don’t eat hot dogs. Or drink gin.”

“Yeah, that I figured out the hard way. I hate gin anyway.”

He considered what Connor had said. “What about AJ, when I’m out checking properties?”

“She can stay with me or Rachel, or you can bring her along, depending on where it is and what you’ll be doing. Your choice.”

“Rachel said she volunteers at the hospital on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Richie noted. “But if you gave me a schedule, it would make it easier all around.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll create a list and we can discuss what needs to be done where.”

“One more thing,” Richie said, and watched his hands shake while he found breath.

Connor resisted the urge to grab Richie’s hands and waited.

“Would you show me how to counter that move you used on me? And how to block better on my left?”

“Yes.”

Richie clenched his hands and unclenched them again. Finding them steady, he looked at Connor. “Tomorrow morning, while Rachel watches AJ?”

Connor nodded. “Let me know when Rachel is available, and we’ll go from there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, constructive criticism, and suggestions for what happens next welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to irishkate and N for the beta and brainstorming!

####  _Wednesday, March 18, 2013_

By mid-March, life had settled into a routine. Twice a week, Connor and Richie sparred, usually with bokken, while Rachel watched AJ. On the days Rachel was volunteering at the hospital, Richie took AJ to explore the city, sometimes with Connor along. Twice a week, Connor asked Richie to check on his network of properties. The list of things to do started with ‘verify that the property meets my standards’ and ended with ‘what is broken vs. what the staff tell me is.’ The properties were a mix of commercial, multifamily residential, and light industrial, spread out across the greater New York metro area. Richie enjoyed the work; most properties were well-maintained, with responsive staff. The few that weren’t had either staff and systems inherited from earlier owners or staff who thought they could get away with a minimal level of effort.

AJ’s custody case was pending the court’s decision, with a decision expected by August. Most days, Richie did his best not to think about it. Today, however, he was nervous; the State of New York was sending a social worker to check out AJ’s living conditions. That meant he and Connor had spent the weekend cleaning the house and moving AJ’s furniture into the narrow bedroom between the master and the guest room, which Richie had assumed was a large storage closet rather than Rachel’s former bedroom. AJ had not wanted to sleep in the room until Richie had put her new favorite stuffed toy, a unicorn, in the bed, and showed her that turning off the light activated a nightlight that turned her ceiling into a field of glow-in-the-dark stars.

He was on his motorcycle, stuck in traffic, when Connor called him on his cell phone. “Social worker is here. Where are you?”

“Still on Long Island,” he snapped, annoyed. Connor had sent him to check on a newly purchased retirement home, and its run-down condition had only turned his nerves into fury. “Sunview Senior Living is a dump. And I know you can tell where I am.”

“At least an hour then,” Connor noted.

His calm manner made Richie realize he had to be talking for the social worker’s benefit. He drew in a breath. “Yeah. Sorry. Can you handle it? If she has questions, call me.”

“Yes. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Thanks, Connor.” After taking another breath, Richie considered his options for getting off Long Island. He hated paying tolls, but it would be faster than staying on the state highway.

An hour and a half later, Richie pulled into the garage to find Connor waiting for him with AJ.

“Daddy!” AJ cried, running to him as he dismounted from the motorcycle and used his remote to close the garage door.

As always, seeing her made his heart leap with joy. He pulled off his helmet and knelt so she could throw her arms around his neck. “Hey, pumpkin, I missed you.” He kissed her cheek.

“Daddy home!” She waved her arms wildly, hugging him more by accident than intention.

“How did it go?” Richie asked, gently turning her so her flailing did not hurt him. AJ stopped immediately.

“The social worker is still here,” Connor informed him. “Her name is Martha Vázquez, and she is very interested in meeting you before she concludes her visit.”

Richie nodded, took a breath, and ran a hand through his hair before he slipped his helmet over his left arm and picked up AJ with his right.

AJ told him as they climbed the stairs, “Play piano!” She mimed banging her hands on the piano keys, which Connor let her do only when he was with her.

Richie grinned. He had become adept at AJ’s toddler-dialect. “Sounds like you had fun.”

AJ nodded her head. “Ride now?”

Martha Vázquez looked like the veteran social worker she was—middle-aged, warm but professional, and eyes that missed nothing as she took in Richie’s motorcycle gear and the way he held AJ. Richie quickly passed his helmet to Connor, who set it on the entryway table near the stairs to the garage.

Richie then set down AJ, telling her, “We’ll go for a ride later, baby girl.”

Connor made the introductions. “Cary, this is Ms. Martha Vázquez, the social worker sent by the State. Ms. Vasquez, this is my nephew, Cary Heirin. I’ll take AJ to the TV couch so you can talk.”

“Thanks, Connor.”

Richie gestured to the couch in the sunken living room. “Unless you’d rather sit in front of the TV? AJ will want attention from me now that I’m home.”

“Whatever’s easiest for you,” Marsha demurred.

Richie grinned and led the way to the sunken living room; Marsha followed. “I understand you have questions for me.”

Marsha nodded and pulled out a notepad and a pen from her briefcase. “Yes. I need to confirm items from you, as much as your uncle wanted to help.”

“Got it.”

“You are single and not in a relationship?”

“Yes,” Richie answered, and settled in for an interrogation.

“Your uncle showed me AJ’s bedroom and said you had been sharing the guest bedroom with her until recently.”

“Yes. I got used to having her in the room with me.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’ve had her since she was six months old.”

“What happened to her mother?”

“She left her with me. You should have a copy of the letter; my lawyer said he would forward it to you.”

Martha confirmed that with a nod. “Yes, I have that, but I’d like to hear it from you. You didn’t think to turn AJ over to the authorities?”

“I was a foster child starting at age four,” Richie said evenly. “You’ll pardon me if I have little faith in that system.”

Martha narrowed her eyes. “Which state?”

“Washington.”

“Well, I know little about that state, but I can assure you we do things differently in New York.”

“Obviously,” Richie noted.

Martha nodded as if proud of her work. “You stated on your application you’re working. Please confirm the name of the company and your hire date?”

“Eterna Properties, and as for hire date? It’s March now, so it would’ve been October.” Richie flashed her a smile. “Connor asked me if I’d find him new places to invest in, since I was in Virginia. He does that ‘oh, by the way, since you’re already there’ thing really well.” He made it sound as if he was fondly annoyed.

“I have a friend who used to do that all the time,” Marsha commiserated with a smile. “Do you travel a lot in your work?”

“Around the tri-state area; Connor decided not to pursue opportunities farther south, much to my relief. Virginia’s pretty but I don’t want to live there.”

“What did you do before you worked for your uncle?”

“A bit of everything. I can weld steel, swing a hammer, cook in a restaurant, or be a small business’s business and accounting manager. I’m not ashamed to work with my hands and I pick up computer skills easily. That said, one of my legal guardians died a year after my guardianship was over; a mugger shot her. I inherited some money from her, and while it’s not a large sum, I don’t have to work full-time to survive.”

Martha’s eyes widened. “How old are you?”

“Thirty,” Richie said, quoting the age on his false identification, and shaving nine years off his actual age. At her double take, he shrugged. “Yeah, I get that a lot. We have good genes in this family.”

“I see.”

Martha asked a few more questions, confirming various details about AJ, including her date of birth, birthplace, mother’s name, and what information Richie knew about AJ’s mother.

“Rosia was a prostitute.” Richie waited for Martha’s censure and was surprised to see only a flicker of surprise. “When I woke up, she had taken an additional $400 from my wallet and left me with the note and AJ.”

“You did not report this to the police?”

Richie looked at her, incredulous. “What, that the woman I illegally hired to have sex with me stole from me? She clearly needed the money more than I did. My first priority was making sure AJ stopped screaming her head off, not reporting theft.”

Martha studied him. “Other people in similar situations would have cared more about the money.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not ‘other people.’”

Martha made a note in her notebook, her expression not giving anything away. “How would you characterize your relationship with your uncle?”

“What do you mean?” Confused, Richie stared at her. “He’s my uncle. He’s the first person I thought of when I realized I couldn’t keep AJ without help from family. He doesn’t yell or hit. He’s helping me discipline AJ in ways that make sense to her, because she’s not old enough to understand logic, without resorting to violence or shouting.”

“Would you say you respect each other?”

“Hell yeah,” Richie affirmed. “Connor isn’t someone who’d waste words or time on someone he didn’t think was worth either. He makes me want to be better.”

The social worker grinned. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

“Daddy!” AJ ran down the steps into the sunken living room. “Ride now?”

With a chuckle, Richie helped her up into his lap. “Not yet, baby girl.”

“You ride your motorcycle with her on it?” Surprised, Marsha looked at him.

“Yes. A friend helped me design and weld a three-point harness and weatherproof seat for her. It’s unconventional, but she’s as protected as I can make it.” Richie smiled thinly. “I checked with the state police; they said if I could show she was secured properly, it was fine.”

Marsha’s lips thinned disapprovingly, but she said, “Would you take her on the subway?”

“Maybe when she’s a bit older and I can trust she won’t run off. She’s in that ‘zoom here, zoom there’ stage.”

That seemed to soften Marsha. She asked a few more questions before leaving, much to Richie’s relief.

Connor escorted her out of the residence. When he returned, he looked at Richie, who was dressing AJ for taking her out on a motorcycle ride.

“What do you think, Connor?” Richie asked. “Did we pass?”

“She’ll be back again in a few weeks,” Connor warned, “and she’ll want to see you interacting with AJ more.”

Richie sighed. “What more do they want? My blood oath?”

Connor shrugged. “Enjoy your ride; we’ll talk about Sunview over dinner, after AJ’s fed.”

“Thanks, Connor. We’ll be back in an hour.”

“Take as long as you need.” Connor patted his shoulder.

Like any other major metropolitan city, other immortals besides Connor lived and worked in New York. Richie felt their Presences brush him as he worked his way north, towards the state line. Once, he would have used that knowledge to find someone to challenge.

 _You could find someone to challenge,_ a voice in his head whispered. _Burn that anger and frustration right up with a good fight._

He ignored that voice and focused instead on hearing AJ babble excitedly behind him as he navigated the roads. Her voice was hard to hear over the wind and the helmet he wore but he listened as she made happy noises.

When he pulled into the garage an hour and half later, he was calmer. Once he had shut off the engine and closed the garage door, he took off his helmet and dismounted the motorcycle. He set his helmet down on the bench beside the stairs, then unstrapped AJ from her seat.

“Did you enjoy that, baby girl?” He knelt to remove her helmet and jacket, placing the helmet beside his on the bench.

She nodded again, squealing, flailing, and dancing until Richie steadied her so he could remove her helmet and jacket. As soon as Richie had removed the items, she wriggled free and ran to the motorcycle. "Up!"

Shaking his head at her desire to go riding again, Richie fought not to smile. “Not now; it’s dinnertime. Aren’t you hungry?”

Her eyes grew wide and she nodded. “Very hungry.”

“Well, let’s go upstairs so we can take off your boots, okay? Then we’ll have dinner.”

“Boots off!” she cried as she scrambled up the stairs.

Amused, Richie followed, noting as he did that she had gotten better at climbing stairs.

Even as he thought that, she stopped halfway up.

“You can do the rest,” he encouraged her.

She looked at him doubtfully.

“Two more.”

She moved to the next step, then considered the next one. She wound up doing four before stopping.

“No more,” AJ proclaimed. “Hungry.”

Richie picked her up, deciding he could push her another day. Social Services had not taken AJ away from him yet; he had no reason to panic. Until then, he wanted to focus on her, and the job Connor had hired him to do.

He thought he had the day handled, but when he found himself in AJ’s room later that night, watching her sleep, he understood he had been deceiving himself.

“Nobody’s gonna take you away from me,” he swore, and bent to kiss her head.

She stirred slightly but did not wake.

With a muttered oath, he forced himself to leave her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! It's been a long 2020; here's to a better 2021!
> 
> Feedback much appreciated, even if it's not much more than AJ-style flailing. ;-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to irishkate & N for the beta!

#### Thursday, March 19, 2013

“Morning, Richie,” the owner-manager of the coffee shop in Connor’s building greeted him. She was a middle-aged woman of average height and build whose most notable features were her long brown hair, which she wore in a waist-length braid, and her habit of wearing ergonomic wrist braces. No makeup coated her square-shaped face, and she wore large gold hoop earrings. “What can I get for you today?”

Richie smiled at her. “Morning, Wendy, a large red-eye, please, and a large drip coffee.”

“Late night?” she asked, sympathetic as she passed his order to the other barista and rang up his total, discounting it since he lived upstairs.

“Yeah,” he agreed as he paid in cash.

“Surprised your uncle isn’t with you; you usually come in together,” Wendy noted as she made change.

“Someone had to watch my little girl; that’s why I’m here, getting his coffee.”

Wendy smiled. “Tell him I said hello. Bring your girl next time.”

“So you can feed her coffee and give her back?” Richie teased, pointing to the sign on the register that proclaimed, “Unattended children will be given espresso and taught to swear.”

Wendy laughed. “Not your little girl; if you didn’t make me regret, Connor would!”

Richie grinned and moved down the counter to pick up the drinks, where a stereotypical, tattooed, hipster male barista was pouring the shots of espresso into a cup. Shock at recognizing the barista transformed to relief that he was alive, followed by a hope that his presence here in the coffee shop meant something positive. “Hey, Peter. I see you stopped following me around and got a real job.”

Peter, the other barista on duty, nodded. “Wondered when you’d notice; Wendy told me you’d be here.” He flashed a grin. “Guess that means we can expect the ‘Wendy finding Peter’ jokes now.”

When Richie did not laugh, Peter became serious. “Any problem with me being here?”

“Wait, you’re still Watching me?” At Peter’s nod, Richie sighed heavily. “I thought I’d scared you off.”

“You’d have to be a lot worse than you are, like another Kiem Sun or something.” Peter attached the portafilter to the machine, then put two shot glasses under the outspouts, before switching on the machine. While the coffee brewed, he told Richie, “You’re the talk of the organization now.”

“For what?” Surprised, Richie stared at his Watcher.

“No fights in three months. That’s a record for you.”

“I stopped looking for trouble.” Silently, he hoped the younger man did not have a case of hero worship. “Got a girl I need to make sure grows up right, so I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

“Oh, no, and here I was missing cheap motel beds.” Peter pretended to pout.

“I’m sure they’d put you on someone more interesting soon enough if you asked them.”

“No, you know me; they’ve decided it’s easier that way, since that means you’re less likely to kill me.”

Richie grimaced at that, remembering when Peter had gotten way too close and he’d thrown a knife at him. “I almost did.”

“My fault for not believing you were dangerous,” Peter excused him. “And you called 911.” He met Richie’s gaze. “That’s an apology, enough for me, and that was five years ago. As I told you afterwards, I shouldn’t have approached you; that was pure stupidity, but I thought you were safe since you’d won the fight. I got yelled at by everyone afterwards, but it made me even more committed to Watching you while staying out of your way.”

“You think being a Watcher is still worth it?” Incredulous, Richie stared at him.

Peter met Richie’s gaze. “You aren’t the only one who needed saving from a life on the streets.” He pushed the drinks across the counter to Richie. “Enjoy your coffee.” Ignoring Richie’s astonishment, Peter turned to Wendy as she greeted the next customer.

Rchie took the coffee as he remembered how guilty he felt over harming Peter, who had been newly assigned as a Watcher. Six months later, Peter had approached him to let him know he was healthy, but otherwise had stayed well-hidden. Peter’s words now tangled Richie’s feelings about that incident.

Connor took the coffee Richie delivered and looked at him inquiringly. “Problem?”

“My Watcher is working in the coffee shop now.”

“Surprised they took that long to put one there,” Connor noted.

Richie shrugged awkwardly. “You’re asking the wrong person.” He paused. “It doesn’t bother you to know they’re downstairs? Wait, does that mean Wendy’s your Watcher?”

Connor nodded. “Better I know who and where they are.” He sipped his coffee and met Richie’s gaze. “Is your Watcher someone you don’t like?”

“I almost killed him. He startled me after I won a fight; made the mistake of approaching me seconds after the lightning had settled.” Richie shifted his shoulders. “Made sure he’d live and then hightailed it out of there. Six months later, he knocked on my motel room door, so I’d know I hadn’t killed him or injured him for life. This morning is the first I’ve seen him in five years; apparently, he got better at hiding.” He let out a breath and shook his head. “Thought maybe he got a different job, stayed in Texas. I thought for sure I’d scared him into not following me around.”

The older immortal studied Richie for a long, wordless moment. “You aren’t that guy anymore, Richie.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He stared at his hands, seeing them covered with Peter’s blood. He had cared more about getting arrested and getting away than what happened to his Watcher. For a minute, Richie lost himself in the memory of that incident.

Connor interrupted his depressive spiral by placing AJ’s sippy cup in his hands. The incongruity of seeing a sippy cup when he expected blood shocked him.

“That,” Connor declared, “says you aren’t.” He gripped Richie’s shoulder; the strength of his grip grounded Richie in the present.

Richie drew in a deep breath before letting it out and putting AJ’s sippy cup back on the kitchen counter. “Thanks, Connor.”

Connor acknowledged his gratitude with a brief nod. “Did you have plans for today? We could take AJ to the Children’s Museum of Brooklyn.”

“Long as they don’t mind her screaming. You know how she gets when she gets overly excited.” Getting out of the house while his Watcher was busy working and unable to leave sounded like a perfect plan.

That got him a grin. “Let’s find out.”

* * *

Connor did not hide his liquor—the bottles filled the end cabinet in the kitchen—but something about seeing it behind the glass-fronted cabinet door made it more reasonable to think he would notice if a bottle was missing or less full than the last time he had opened the cabinet. Standing in the kitchen later that evening, after putting an exhausted AJ to bed, Richie fought the urge to drink. It was past eleven; Connor had gone to bed around nine-thirty.

“Did I ever tell you the story of the duel I fought in Boston?”

Connor’s voice startled him. In that moment, Richie forgot everything he had learned about the older Highlander in the last three months. Eighteen years of not trusting any immortal made Richie’s reaction instinctive. He whirled and threw the knife he had pulled off his belt, convinced that the older immortal was coming for him. Richie’s adrenaline spiked as his fight-or-flight response kicked in.

The knife thudded into the staircase railing as Richie finally processed what Connor had said. Drawing in a deep gulp of air, Richie fought for calm, unable to do anything other than stare at the older immortal.

Unperturbed, Connor continued down the stairs, pausing only to pull out Richie’s knife and return it to him. With a shock, Richie realized that the older immortal had thrown his voice to make it sound closer to Richie and had therefore expected Richie would throw something at him.

“No?” Connor continued as if Richie had done nothing. “I was extremely, blind, stinking drunk, thanks to Kastagir’s ‘boom-boom,’ which was moonshine. I insulted someone’s wife by calling her ‘a bloated warthog.’ Why I agreed to a duel while still drunk and why that idiot refused to stop killing me after the first time he killed me is still a mystery, two centuries later. But I blame Kastagir; he could always get me into trouble, especially since he was a free black man who refused to stop speaking out about slavery.”

Astonished and more than a little confused, Richie stared at Connor. “You could have killed the other guy.”

“I apparently labored under the notion he would be willing to talk peace, but he shot me anyway. For talking too much but not the words he wanted to hear.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

Seeing he had Richie’s attention, Connor continued, “Took me a long time to figure out when to stop drinking, but that duel was the start of that journey.”

“I….” Richie took a deep breath and deliberately stretched out his hands, which he had unconsciously curled into fists. “Does it get easier?”

“Easier than waking up hungover and regretting what you did the night before, even when you remember little of it.”

Richie barked a laugh at that. “Yeah. But all I can think about is how Peter doesn’t hate me. He was joking about how settled I am now because it means he’s not sleeping in motel room beds.”

Connor flipped on the lights over the kitchen island. “And you want to run.”

“Am I that predictable?” Richie sat on a stool at the island in the center of the kitchen; doing so kept his gaze away from the liquor cabinet.

“Richie, you’ve been sober for how long now?”

“AJ was six months old when her mother dumped her on me and she’ll be three in May, so… two years. I didn’t manage to be sober consistently the first few months she was with me.”

“Then don’t lose that streak because you’re mortified you hurt your Watcher when he startled you, rather than remember the good part, which is that Peter isn’t holding a grudge against you.” Connor took out two whiskey glasses and filled them with water. He held his in a toast; Richie automatically raised his glass to meet it. “Congratulations for that. Now, stop pulling in your Presence so you feel like a ghost. I felt you snap out of range and thought you’d fled.”

Richie blinked, not realizing he had done so, and let go of his control on his Presence. “Sorry.” He drank water, suddenly thirsty.

Connor stayed with him until he had finished another glass of water, then hugged him. “I’m proud of you, Richie. I love you. Don’t forget that.”

He walked back upstairs, leaving Richie to contemplate his demons alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to penny and LadySilver for brainstorming, and to my betas N and irishkate.

#### Monday, September 13, 2013

“I’m sorry, Mr. Heirin, but the judge assigned to your case had a family emergency,” the family lawyer apologized. “The court has postponed your final hearing to next week, pending receipt of the social worker’s evaluation and the judge’s availability.”

Richie bit back his frustration. He had walked down to the lawyer’s office, concerned that the lawyer’s assistant was stonewalling him. “What more does the social worker want? She’s already visited us twice and we’ve gone to her office to have an evaluation. She’s called me with a million questions.”

“She has to turn in her report officially,” the lawyer explained. “While she assures me you have nothing more to do, anything she says beyond that is not legally binding unless it’s contained in her report.”

Richie swore. “Guess that means she can’t tell you anything, either?”

“No, I’m sorry. I know it’s frustrating, but even in the age of the Internet, some things take time. With luck, the judge will return to his duties when promised and we won’t have to wait another month.”

Richie bit back the urge to comment on what he presumed the social worker would say in her report. He was certain that would be a spiral of self-deprecation the lawyer did not need to hear. He focused instead on the second part of the lawyer’s statement. “Your assistant, April, kept saying she didn’t have a firm date for the hearing, and she’s been telling me that since late July.”

“That’s because the court didn’t issue one until ten days ago, and then we were notified on Friday that the judge was unavailable. We had you on the list to call today. Before you ask—no, I don’t know what happened to the judge; they simply list it as a ‘family emergency.’ I can ask, if you’re concerned?”

“No, not really. There aren’t a lot of family court judges, are there?”

“Not in this judicial district. From my perspective, I hope we stay with this judge; they are more receptive to awarding custody to men.”

“I see. Well, please keep me posted,” Richie said, and shook the lawyer’s hand before exiting the office, which was a mile away from Connor’s building. Since it had made no sense to ride the distance, Richie had walked.

He had left AJ in Rachel’s care. Rachel had promised to take AJ to the zoo; Connor was meeting with an architect and a general contractor on the progress to fix conditions at Sunview Senior Living. Richie expected neither of them back before 1 pm. The walk had cooled some of his frustration over the custody proceedings taking longer than expected. Richie’s stomach rumbled with hunger; breakfast with Connor was always at seven in the morning, after he returned from his run and had showered. Richie reminded himself that they had leftover roast beef from Sunday’s dinner and fresh French bread from the bakery up the street. Furthermore, both the fridge and pantry were stocked from the grocery run he had helped Connor complete on Friday afternoon.

As he approached Connor’s building, the unmistakable siren warning of another immortal thrummed through his body. All thoughts of making a roast beef sandwich fled from Richie’s mind. He froze, recognizing it as someone whose strength of Presence was distinctive among their kind, though not the tsunami of Connor’s. Richie swore. Old habit made him pull his Presence in to hide himself before he stepped into the alley behind the building. He unzipped his jacket so he could reach his sword more easily.

Duncan stepped away from the rear door, having deduced no one was home to answer the doorbell. He was dressed casually; a large duffel bag hung from a cross-body shoulder strap to hang at his right hip.

Upon seeing Richie, Duncan looked both surprised and troubled. He moved closer. “Richie! I thought you were dead!”

Richie smiled humorlessly, not buying the other man’s words. “Funny, Connor said he told you I wasn’t, months ago.”

“Yes, but he didn’t mention you were still here in New York.”

“What, you expected me back in Seacouver? Thanks to you, the State of Washington thinks I’m dead.”

“I thought you were,” Duncan murmured. “How did you escape that building in Phoenix and one of Karson Kertzmann’s infamous traps?”

“I ran,” Richie replied flatly. “Didn’t Connor tell you that?”

“And how did you prevent becoming one of Kertzmann’s next win-from-the-inside victims?” Duncan stopped a sword’s length away.

Richie stared at him, gobsmacked at the implication. “Seriously? You doubt my ability to put away the Quickening of a cheating bastard like Karson Kertzmann? After learning what happened to you? After taking Haresh Clay’s head, and winning for two years straight before that?”

Duncan gestured with his hands, but his voice held a hard, uncompromising inflection. “Been a long time, Richie; all the talk I’ve been hearing is that you’ve become obsessed with headhunting. Then you vanished. Next thing I hear, you’re using Cary Heirin as your name; you changed your hair color, your sword, your motorcycle, and your fighting style. All within months of coming up against Kertzmann.”

Richie noted the distance and his former teacher’s suspicion. “And you assume I let that idiot take over?”

“He wouldn’t have given you much choice.” Hard-won knowledge coated Duncan’s tone.

Richie crossed his arms. “What? I’m incapable of deciding I’m sick of fighting with a rapier against broadswords and sabers? That I can’t decide to change because I want to, not because someone won from the inside?”

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Your Presence doesn’t feel that strong. Who helped you?”

“No one. Just me and my friends Captain Morgan, Jack Daniels, and Tito,” Richie drawled, certain the news of his drinking would piss off Duncan more. “Drank it all down until the noise in my head stopped. Until I could say I was that poor little street rat the MacLeods rescued. Poor, stupid Richie, too much like a curious cat for his own good.”

Duncan flinched at the mocking words. “Richie, that’s no way to live.”

“Says you.” He cocked his head as he studied the older immortal. “Because only your standards for living are the right ones. Based on those standards, I can’t change my entire appearance and style after learning how to fight better. Certainly not after getting sick of being able to be spotted in a crowded room simply because of my hair color. Or decide to go after someone who tried to use me and kill me, because I need to forgive and forget, right? Even if, under the same circumstances, you’d do it?”

Duncan drew back, startled. “I don’t advocate vengeance.”

“Then why the fuck are you here? From where I’m standing, I’ve lived just fine without you for the last eighteen years, hunting the headhunters. I even hoped, one day, you’d be proud of me for all that I’ve done and learned without you. Maybe even glad I got rid of a few problems.” Richie drew in a breath, and on his exhale, let go of the control on his Presence.

Shock rippled across Duncan’s face as he registered the shift in strength. Disconcerted, he shifted his shoulders as he adjusted to the difference. “Joe said you’d killed Felice Martins.”

Richie stared at him, unable to understand why his former teacher would assume Felice’s death mattered. Then he realized Duncan labored under the impression that Richie’s lust over Felice had actually been love. “Yeah, and?”

“She deserved a second chance.”

Richie shook his head. “Not from me. I ran into her in a bar down in New Orleans, and she wanted me to help plan how to get back at you. When I told her seeing you was the last thing I ever wanted to do, she attacked me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too fucking bad, Mac; that’s what happened. And that was three years ago, I don’t regret it, and whatever lust I ever had towards her died a long time before that. If you want to challenge me over her death, pull out your sword and let’s go.” He drew his sword.

“Richie, I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then what the fuck do you want?” Richie’s anger exploded. “You’ve known I was here for months. I’m sure Connor told you to stay wherever the hell you were. What changed?”

“You’re too dangerous to be around children. You killed Kenny, who was a child.”

“Kenny was no child; he was a cold-blooded headhunter; you know that.”

“That only makes it worse.”

Richie shook his head. “You’re fixated on appearances, Mac. Kenny was over seven hundred years old, way more mature than the ten-year-old boy he was stuck as. He would’ve killed any pre-immortal he found, if only to make sure none of them suffered like he has and wouldn’t be a future threat to him. That bastard abided by rules when it suited him, like running to Holy Ground to escape,” Richie shot back. “He only pretended to be a naïve ten-year-old for as long as it got him whatever the fuck he wanted. He was not innocent, not by any measure. He wanted the Prize, damn it—and he would’ve killed you and Amanda if it got him there.”

“You’re still too dangerous.” Duncan straightened his shoulders, resolute in his conviction.

Incredulous, Richie stared at him. “And you aren’t? You put a target on my back marked with your name and then weren’t in a hurry to teach me how to defend myself.”

Duncan flinched at the reminder of his failure. “I thought I had more time. Losing Tessa–”

“Before we died, you had time,” Richie reminded him. He let that sink in a moment before conceding, “I probably wouldn’t have listened, but I would’ve followed you anywhere. You killed the guy who would’ve done that the day you held a sword to my throat, intending to kill me.” Richie studied his former teacher. “Why the fuck does it matter what I do now when it didn’t in January?”

“You’ve killed young-looking immortals; you have no hesitation in killing any immortal.”

Mindful of his sword, Richie crossed his arms. “I’m supposed to infer that’s a terrible thing?” he sneered. “When those I’ve hunted would’ve happily taken either of our heads, given the chance?”

“You’ve made a life out of drinking, whoring, and killing.”

“Don’t forget the part where I also stole, lied, and cheated,” Richie noted dryly. “What, are you afraid that poor little thief you rescued off the street lost his moral compass somewhere along the way? That I still hold to that notion of ‘get them before they get me,’ like I told you before Haresh Clay came hunting for me?”

“Richie, you can’t live like this. Not with a child around.”

Realization dawned. “Let me guess. You saw a photo of a little girl with Connor and are here to protect them. Obviously, your cousin can’t protect himself with the enormous distraction of a child. You think I’ve overloaded somewhere along the way and who I am on the inside isn’t me.”

“I’m not the one making my life hunting others.” Duncan looked resolute.

“And I’m not the one being a judgmental idiot with only half the story.” Richie felt the distinct signature of another immortal approaching. “Did you even ask your cousin before you hightailed it out here?”

“I left messages. He didn’t respond, so I became concerned.”

Disgusted, Richie shook his head. “I see. You assumed I’d taken his head. Because that’s what you expect I do now. You don’t know who the hell I am, what I’ve become. You’re so convinced you’re right, you’re charging forward without a fucking clue.”

Before Duncan could reply to that, Connor stepped into the alley. He assessed the situation, looked at Richie, then his cousin.

“Richie, put away your sword and meet AJ and Rachel at the train station. They should arrive in a few minutes; I’m sure they’ll appreciate a welcome.”

Relieved by that suggestion, Richie left the cousins in the alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback adored!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to irishkate and N for beta reading and cheerleading!

“You trust him?” The words burst out of Duncan’s mouth.

Connor eyed him before unlocking the back door and allowing Duncan to precede him inside the building. He said nothing until they stood on the main floor of the residence. “Hello, Duncan. What brings you to New York?”

Impatient, Duncan glared at his cousin even as he followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the island. “Richie has a little girl. I’m worried about her safety, especially in relation to him. Your voicemail stopped accepting messages.”

“Because some idiot spammer filled my voicemail with repeated messages.” He pulled two glasses out from a cabinet as he spoke, then retrieved a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. “It was easier to turn off the damned thing. I only cleared it a few minutes ago.” He offered Duncan a glass; the younger Highlander shook his head, refusing it. With a shrug, Connor filled the glass with iced tea and returned the unused glass to the wall-mounted cabinet to the right to the stove.

Duncan forced himself to relax; his cousin would stand there, waiting patiently until he revealed his reasons for the argument in the alley. “Who’s AJ?”

“The little girl whose photo, I wager, sent you three thousand miles here.”

Duncan refused to feel guilty for that. “If you’d seen it and thought what I do, you’d have done the same. You didn’t tell me about her, and I thought Richie left already. He didn’t seem inclined to linger before.”

“Were you tracking him to take his head or because you worried someone had already hijacked him?”

Now Duncan let his frustration show. “Damn it, Connor, why the hell aren’t you worried about him? He’s been a killing machine for seventeen years and then he just one day stops?” Duncan snapped his fingers. “Like someone threw a switch?”

“You didn’t see him after he took Dominic Cleburne’s head.” Connor sipped his tea, appearing to take strength from the cold beverage as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “He was sitting in a diner, trying to make himself as small and as non-threatening as possible while getting a two-year-old to eat instead of play.” Connor met Duncan’s gaze. “And Dominic would’ve taken that girl and killed her. Now, the question is: who sent you out here on this wild goose chase?” He considered that question. “The photo or video would have originated from the Watchers. Richie took AJ to the playground on Wednesday, which means you probably saw it Thursday or Friday. Your Watcher, then. Not Joe; I’ve overhead Richie talking to him several times since January.”

Duncan stared at his cousin, a little unnerved at the accuracy of his deductions. “Steve, my Watcher, thought I knew about her already. You didn’t answer my calls or my email.”

“Been in meetings for one of my properties most of the week. Didn’t realize that you’d panic if I took a few days to answer your email. Figured if it was bad, you’d ask Rachel.”

“The last number I have for her is disconnected.”

Connor sighed and glared at him.

Duncan took the hint, pulled out his phone, and opened his list of contacts; Connor gave him Rachel’s current number.

“There’s also a rumor you killed Cary Heirin, since no one’s seen him in months.”

Connor smirked at that. “Wasn’t me; Richie didn’t want to dye his hair anymore.”

“That’s it?” Unable to consider it was that simple, Duncan spread his arms wide, palms up. “He stopped headhunting because he wanted to?”

“Is that so difficult to comprehend? We both decided we were sick of fighting in wars, so we stopped volunteering for them. You accepted Darius’s Light Quickening when you learned what he had been.”

“This is different. Connor, Richie put his Watcher in the hospital five years ago—stabbed him in the heart and almost killed him.”

Connor eyed Duncan for a long moment. “Did you get the rest of the story from Joe, or is your Watcher someone new and prone to gossip? Because if it was Joe, he would’ve told you that Richie stabbed Peter for approaching him seconds after the Quickening lightning had settled.”

Duncan’s eyes widened as he recognized how dangerous that moment had been. “Steve said nothing about that, only that Peter almost died.”

Connor crossed his arms. Annoyance at Duncan’s assumptions radiated in how calm Connor was; the calmer Connor got, the more furious he was. “Did he also forget to mention that in the last nine months, Richie hasn’t fought a single challenge? Not for lack of challengers, mind.”

“You fought them for him.”

“No, he simply refused to engage. He can hide in plain sight when he wants to; pull himself in so he doesn’t appear as strong as he is.”

“Did you teach him that trick? He had me convinced he wasn’t as strong as his reputation.”

“I didn’t.” Connor studied his cousin, who appeared to be caught off-balance by Connor’s answer. “Not knowing who did eats at you, because that means either he got it from a Quickening, or someone cared enough to spend time with him and teach him. Time you wish you’d had. You’re angry and jealous,” Connor noted, “that Richie didn’t trust you enough to come to you instead of me.” Before Duncan could react to that, the elder Highlander added, “And because you wanted to see, for yourself, what he’s become.”

Duncan froze; he had forgotten how clearly his cousin interpreted his behavior. He swallowed the sting of accuracy and the instinctive denial that rose to his lips, aware Connor would not let him deny the truth.

“You said nothing about Richie the last several months,” Duncan countered, hoping that Connor would accept his reasoning. “I assumed he had left. Then I watched a video of him with a little girl running towards him at a playground. I thought, if he’d killed Kenny, what were his plans for that girl? Kenny had taken enough heads that I could see where he might overload someone. The rumors about what Kenny would do in a child’s body were always godawful, but they’ve gotten worse over the last decade. Richie had changed his name, his fighting style, and everything else, and I worried….” His voice trailed off as he watched his cousin’s face. Duncan’s heart sunk as he realized he had miscalculated.

Connor’s eyes flashed angrily. “You assumed he’d become someone reprehensible. Have you no faith in my judgment?”

“I couldn’t be sure he hadn’t tricked you, the way Kenny almost tricked me.”

“Well, he hasn’t. Richie wants AJ to grow up with a better chance at living than he had. You’ll undo months of work if you stay, Duncan. He lives for that little girl, and I won’t have you interfering.”

“You believe him when he says he won’t hurt her?”

Connor looked at Duncan pointedly. “Yes.”

Both sensed the warning of immortal Presence a few moments before they heard the elevator moving upward. A little girl with shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair babbled in half-English, half-toddler-speak as the doors opened.

“Yes, we’ll return to the zoo, but not today. You just left there, silly,” Richie chided as he walked down the steps.

“Daddy, show Connor.”

“That’s where we’re going, baby.”

As Richie walked down the last few steps, the faint flicker of a pre-immortal Presence slid across Duncan’s senses. Shocked, he looked for confirmation on Connor’s face.

Connor nodded.

Duncan then turned to Richie, who carried the little girl in his left arm. She was dressed in leggings, a flower-print dress, and sneakers. A smeared heart adorned her right cheek.

To Connor, Richie said, “AJ wants to show you the face painting she got, but she’s smeared half of it on me already.” He deliberately stayed out of the kitchen, more than a lunge’s length away from Duncan.

Duncan noticed the distance, which denoted how different their relationship was now. The hope he had harbored that Richie might forgive him sank further into the sea of disappointment. Still, he watched enviously as Connor moved to greet AJ.

Connor smirked as he went over to where Richie stood with AJ. He made the proper noises over the smeared heart on AJ’s left cheek, delighting the little girl.

The weight of Duncan’s stare made Richie lift his chin defiantly, daring the other man to speak. “AJ’s mine, no matter what; I won’t abandon her to some damn child welfare agency.”

Seeing someone she did not recognize, AJ hid her face and wriggled.

Duncan swallowed his surprise. “She looks like you.”

“I imagine that’s why her mother decided she’d be better off with me.”

AJ wriggled more.

Ignoring Duncan, Richie took AJ over to the sunken living room, where he and Connor had set up a play area. After settling her on the plush rocking unicorn and helping her get started, Richie glanced over to see that Duncan had drifted over to watch.

“Why are you here?” Richie demanded, tired of the scrutiny.

“Because I didn’t want to accept a secondhand report,” Duncan admitted.

Disgusted, Richie shook his head. “Well, believe whatever the hell you want and leave me and AJ alone. We don’t need you. In fact, why don’t you leave? You don’t live here.”

“Duncan,” Connor ordered, “let’s get some coffee.”

It wasn’t a request.

Duncan hesitated, but looked at his cousin, who stood pointedly holding the elevator door open. Turning back to Richie, Duncan took a deep breath before he declared, “I can’t change the past, Richie, but I’d like you to consider me a friend.”

“A friend?” Richie repeated, his tone scathing. “A friend would’ve tried harder to make sure I was alive. You never verified with Joe if I was alive or dead; you just assumed the report you received was true. You know, I considered approaching you, about ten years ago. Got to missing Seacouver, told myself I was homesick, that I should get closure.”

Duncan gawked at him.

Richie sneered at his disbelief. “Yeah, great idea, right? Must’ve been watching too much daytime TV that week. I even drove to that fancy dojo you have downtown, but the guy at the desk informed me you weren’t in that day. Debated staying in Seacouver for a while, but that’s when I discovered you’d told the State of Washington I was dead. You wrote me off as a lost cause fifteen years ago.”

“Richie, I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Richie cocked his head and considered the apology before shaking his head, refusing it. “The guy who would take that at face value died when you held a sword to his throat. You surrendered the right to comment on my life when you made it clear as fuck you didn’t want or need me in your life, and that you were perfectly fine if I was dead. I don’t want or need anything from you. I got Connor and Rachel, and AJ needs me; that’s all I need. Go away, Duncan.”

Duncan pursed his lips and radiated unhappiness before exhaling heavily and taking his cue to exit.

* * *

“Figured you would’ve left,” Connor told Richie when he returned an hour later and found the younger immortal in AJ’s room, watching her sleep.

Richie shrugged as he stepped out of the room and gently shut the door behind him. “Got AJ down for a nap. After that, running seemed pointless.” He exhaled heavily and turned to face Connor. “Did you get Duncan to leave?”

“He’ll be in the city another day to visit Rachel, but he yelled at his Watcher, Steve, for riling him up, while I was listening on the phone. According to Steve, he thought Duncan already knew about AJ. He sounded genuinely confused as to why Duncan was upset at him.”

Richie made a disgusted noise. “Yeah, right. Do you really believe showing Mac that video wasn’t deliberate?”

“What makes you think it was?”

“The Watcher I had before Peter tried to convince me to hunt specific people; I wound up asking Joe if that was allowed. After I talked to Joe, I never saw that Watcher again.” Richie shook his head. “Peter and Wendy don’t bother me; the way they act around us reminds me of Joe Dawson. We’re not objects in a zoo or people they can convince to do things for them, but people, period.”

Connor did not look surprised by Richie’s comments. “I asked Wendy after Duncan left. She said there’s always been curiosity whether Duncan and I have ever fought.”

“Have you?”

Connor chuckled, amusement lighting his features. “Not since we disagreed over a woman in 1715; I told him she was trouble, and he thought I was crazy. Took him two decades before he admitted I’d been right.” Remembering that made Connor smile briefly.

“I don’t want to be the reason you two stop talking,” Richie admitted as he leaned against the railing of the hallway. The second floor was actually a half-story; the other half of the floor overlooked the first. “I don’t care about him, but he’s your family. That’s way more than most immortals have, and I respect that.”

“You let me worry about that,” Connor assured him. “He and I have other things we can discuss without ever mentioning you or AJ. Speaking of discussing you: Duncan’s also agreed not to contact you again. Or to interfere with anything involving AJ, unless there’s a verified threat to her safety I or you can’t handle.”

Richie let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “If it’s that bad, I’d rather call someone else to help, like Matthew McCormick.”

Surprised by that name, Connor looked at Richie. “That Sassenach?” His eyes narrowed as he considered the information. “He heard of your reputation and found you.”

“Pulled me over outside Alexandria, Virginia; flashed his badge. Still can’t believe one of us is an FBI agent. Wanted to confirm information, he said, about me and who I was.” Richie’s mouth twisted in a scowl as he remembered that meeting. “Made me nervous as hell. He cooed over AJ like she was a princess, though, and admired my getup for her. Even told me which route to avoid if I didn’t want to get pulled over for speeding.”

Connor shook his head in admiration. “He hunts the headhunters, too, but he tries to do it legally, as an FBI agent.”

“That explains the questions he asked.” Richie walked downstairs as Connor followed and stepped into the kitchen to make something to eat. “McCormick made it sound like he was checking against some list he had in his head; he promised me if he liked my answers, he’d let me go, no strings attached. Until that moment, I didn’t realize how many people I’d won against; I’d stopped counting. I was relieved when he thanked me and wished me good luck.” Richie went to pull open the refrigerator door and realized his hands were shaking. He stared at them a moment before pulling his shoulders back, rolling his head, and taking a deep breath.

“I swear I’m not that guy anymore, Connor.” He turned anguished eyes to the older immortal. “I don’t regret what I’ve done, but I don’t want to be proud of killing, either. Seeing Mac again just made me remember…everything. I was already annoyed—the judge who’s supposed to preside over the custody case had an emergency, so the court pushed all their cases forward a week, minimum, or until the judge can return.”

“And they don’t want to reassign anything until they know if it’s a longer-term emergency.” Connor paused before asking, “Do you want me to make a few calls? Your lawyer isn’t the only connection I have.”

Richie shook his head. “Not sure if it would help or make things worse.” He took another deep breath. “But I make better decisions when I’m not hungry, and I don’t trust myself with a knife right now.”

Connor grinned and pointed to a stool. “Then sit down and I’ll make us a late lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback adored!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to irishkate and N for beta reading, and to penny and LadySilver for discussing what-ifs with me on Discord.

#### Friday, September 20, 2013

As Richie stepped into the kitchen, Connor was putting away the leftover cake from their celebration of the successful closure of AJ’s custody case.

“Did AJ fall asleep okay?”

Richie nodded. “I had to reassure her that the toys on the shelf above her bed didn’t need to all come to bed with her.”

Connor chuckled as he shut the refrigerator. “Does it feel real yet that she’s yours legally now?”

“No.” Richie half-laughed. “Probably won’t for a while yet. AJ didn’t understand the fuss we were making, though she enjoyed the cake a lot. She’s going to ask if she gets more. I’m glad I’m not into the habit of giving her treats and not brushing her teeth; I read a parenting article about how some kids are losing their teeth early.”

At Connor’s look of surprise, Richie said defensively, “It was in a magazine at the pediatrician’s office yesterday. Rachel made the appointment; I hadn’t even contemplated finding a doctor for AJ. I just knew I didn’t want her to see a dentist for cavities like I did when I was six.”

“She’s not immortal yet.”

“No, and with any luck from the Universe, she won’t be until she’s well out of her teens. How old were you?”

“Eighteen,” Connor admitted, “though that was considered a fine age for a man back then.”

Richie stared at him. “And here I thought you were older than me at my first death. No wonder you wanted me off the street!”

The older immortal grinned briefly. “I couldn’t take you with me and keep you safe. I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Duncan the way I’d hoped.”

Richie shook his head. “Not your fault. It wasn’t all bad before the Dark Quickening. I would’ve died a lot sooner without knowing what I was, or what kind of danger I could be in, so... yeah. I’m grateful you convinced me and Mac to try each other out. If he calls or shows up again, though, I’m walking out and leaving you to deal with him.”

“What would it take for you to consider friendship with him?” Connor did his best to keep the hope out of his voice, aware he was asking a loaded question. “I ask because keeping a grudge can be fatal, given how long we live.”

Richie resisted the urge to answer with his first knee-jerk response and considered the question. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Off the top of my head, I have to say, ‘acceptance of what he can’t change.’ I’m never going to be a clone of him—or you.”

“Nor do I expect you to be,” Connor assured him. “He understands that; he’s always held his friends to high standards.”

“I wish someone had told me that before, when it would’ve mattered more to hear it,” Richie noted. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise to be civil next time he’s around.” He looked at Connor and read the relief at the promise. “Beyond that, I can’t say. I forgive him but I can’t forget. What he did made me who I am now.”

“Fair enough.”

To change the subject, Richie reached for the open bottle of sparkling pear juice. “Did you want to finish this?”

“No; if you don’t want to finish it, you can pour it out and recycle the bottle.”

Richie considered the idea, then decided against finishing the bottle. He poured the rest of the sparkling pear juice down the sink. He then picked up the champagne flutes off the island and brought to the sink so he could wash them. “Thought Rachel would stay longer.”

“I wanted to talk to you, so I asked her to go home.”

Richie froze. He set the crystal glasses in the sink and turned to Connor. “Is this when you tell me to get the fuck out?”

“No, this is where I ask you if you want to leave.” Connor leaned against the corner of the kitchen. “You said you’d stay until AJ’s custody was determined. That process was complete as of 2 pm this afternoon. You’re welcome to stay.”

Relief whooshed through Richie like air in a popped balloon. “I hadn’t thought much beyond this point,” he admitted. “But Rachel asked me earlier this week if I’d thought about introducing AJ to other kids her age. She suggested a pre-kindergarten close to here.” He took a deep breath. “I’d like to stay. I’ve gotten used to having you here to help me with AJ.”

“Then I’d love to have you both.”

Richie waited and fought not to panic, sensing the other man had more to say. “But?”

Connor shook his head and reached over to grasp Richie’s hand reassuringly before letting go. “What I have to say next doesn’t put conditions on that last statement. First, your relationship with Duncan, or lack of one, is not a hinderance. You won’t be the first or last person he and I have agreed to disagree on. We’ve argued over Rachel, for example.”

“Because he didn’t want her to do something you were perfectly fine with her doing?”

“Yes. Among other things, he was not enthused about her being a single mother and worried we’d be more at risk for headhunters.”

“I can just hear Rachel telling him she was no less capable of kicking ass than she had been before she had children.”

“Precisely my thoughts. Second: if you decide to date someone, tell me so I can babysit AJ. Those mothers at the playground have been flirting with you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I noticed; I saw how you deflected that one woman.” Richie grimaced as he remembered that incident. “She asked about you the next day. I told her you were a committed bachelor and then she asked if I was single. That kind of intensity turned me off.”

“If it was someone else, you might reconsider.”

Richie shook his head. “Reminds me too much of me when I cared more about getting laid than a long-term relationship. No thanks.”

“Still, my point stands. You’re too passionate to be celibate forever, and when you meet someone, if it turns into something serious, let’s discuss what you want to do.”

“I can’t imagine wanting anyone. Maybe when AJ’s older and a little more self-reliant.” Richie met the older man’s understanding gaze. “Half the reason I picked up someone was to not be alone. It’s weird to contemplate what I want in a relationship when my focus is how to keep AJ safe, healthy, and happy.”

“Which is why I’m mentioning it now, so you can give it some consideration.”

Richie shook his head, aware that Connor was a meticulous planner. “Just as long as you know I’m going to give you shit if you harp on how I should have someone.”

Connor grinned. “Wouldn’t expect any less.” He became serious. “The last thing is that Peter stopped me on my way out this morning. He’s worried about you since you haven’t been in the coffee shop all week. The only time you’ve left the building was to take AJ to the playground over on Bleecker Street.”

Richie bit his lip and sighed before picking up one of the champagne flutes and washing it. “What did you tell him?”

“Said you wanted to spend your time with your girl, in case the custody hearing didn’t go your way, not even to get coffee. He looked relieved. You should see him after the breakfast rush, so he doesn’t worry.”

“Will do.” Richie shook his head, marveling at the fact his Watcher worried about him, and washed the second champagne flute. “Didn’t realize he would worry about me.”

“He’s gotten to know you better than some people ever will. You’ve stopped being words in a Chronicle to him.”

Richie winced. “I thought if I kept my distance, he wouldn’t care so much.”

“He’s not asking for a minute-by-minute byplay,” Connor pointed out, “but if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have asked about you.”

“Yeah, there’s that.” Richie sighed. “And I’d rather have someone like that Watching me than some dude who looks at me like I’m an animal in a zoo. Do you sit down with Wendy and give her an update of what’s happening in your life?”

Connor chuckled. “No, but she derives a lot of information out of a five-minute conversation. She thinks I haven’t noticed.”

Richie barked a laugh as he rinsed the glasses and set them in the drainer beside the sink. “You notice everything; you only let her think she’s getting away with it. Which means she’s figured out you know she knows.”

Connor acknowledged that with a nod. “As long as she and Peter aren’t replaced by insistent assholes, I’m fine with that arrangement.”

“Me too. Thanks, Connor, for everything.”

The other man stepped forward and hugged him. “You’re welcome, but you did the work.”

Richie smiled. “I was so terrified I’d kill AJ if I didn’t find someone to help me find some way to stop freaking out about everything. I look back and realize I was so far gone, I couldn’t see what I needed. If you’d told me to get lost... After I’d finished panicking, I might’ve thrown myself on Matthew McCormick’s mercy and hoped for the best.”

“He wouldn’t have thrown you out, but I’m glad you came to me first. Though you could’ve just knocked, instead of thinking you needed to curry favor by taking a head for me.”

“Connor, you would’ve thought I’d come for your head,” Richie retorted. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Connor acknowledged that with a wry smile. “Not if you’d come with AJ.”

“And I’d have left her and run.” Richie heaved a sigh. “She’s the reason for everything now.”

Connor patted his back. “You’re a good father, Richie, and you’re not alone in that effort. I made mistakes raising Rachel.”

“Not that I can tell. She’s amazing. I just hope I do as good of a job with AJ.”

Connor beamed with fatherly pride. “I’m sure you will.”

Reassured, Richie changed the subject to the new sci-fi TV show he and Connor had started watching, and they moved over to the TV area to watch and discuss it. Tomorrow would be a new chapter in Richie and AJ’s lives; tonight, all that mattered to him was that she was safely asleep, she was his, and Connor wanted him to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, constructive criticism, kudos, and keyboard smashes all welcome, even when this fic is "old" and I've long since forgotten a) what it's about b) that I wrote it. Instagram-rules of stalking do not apply to fic.
> 
> This fic comes with a disclaimer: I don't hate Duncan. Someday, when AJ's older, I can totally see a situation in which Richie will need Duncan's help, and that kickstarts the beginning of a new friendship for them. I tried to write that but the story blew me a raspberry, so you'll just have to imagine that happy ending instead.
> 
> To everyone who's read it as it was posted: thank you! ❤️ If you're reading this note long after January 23, 2021: I'd love to read your comments and receive your kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, constructive criticism, etc. always welcome.


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